Page 12 of Swear on My Life

Lark.

Her name is as beautiful as she is.“Lark,” I say the name just to feel it roll around on my tongue. Her gaze slides from the floor to my face, seeming to linger just below my eyes before they finally move all the way up. “Go out with me, Lark.”

“I . . .” Her chest rises with a breath she takes, making me wonder how she’ll look naked. Shifting away from me with a faltered step, she says, “I could get in trouble for being here, for being with you, Harbor.”

“What kind of trouble could the two of us possibly get into just from being together?” The question feels better suited for a moment bigger and more important than a stolen one in the upstairs hallway.

Her smile is so sweet that it’s tempting to taste. Tilting her head, she laughs. “I think I better go before we find out.” She’s quick to the stairs.

“Hey, Lark?” She turns back with that smile still on her face. “What do I have to do to see you again?”

Her gaze dips between us as her smile falters. When she looks up again, a look of determination has set her features. “We don’t always get what we want when we want it. Sometimes we need to follow our destinies instead.”

Cocking an eyebrow, I sigh, despite enjoying the exchange. “Patience is a virtue?”

“Exactly.” Her smile reappears. “Only time will tell.”

“Only time will tell.”

She catches my gaze for the shortest moment in time, and then she turns away.

I didn’t expect to be drawn to someone, pulled toward her as if I’m hooked on the end of her fishing line. From the way she moves, so unaware of her appeal, to the mystery that resides in her eyes—pain and happiness cycling through her gaze—she’s utterly captivating.

Is it wrong to long to hear the secrets she keeps from everyone else, to want to kiss her with the same determination as a thief desires the crown jewels?

Desire.

Craving . . .

I’m crude in my need to hear her call my name not just in ecstasy but in reverence when she thinks of me long after I’ve gone.

Fuck.

She’s doing my head in. My shoulders press to the wall as I watch her descend the stairs before she disappears.

I give her enough time and distance to return to wherever she’s stationed before I head down the stairs. As soon as I enter the family room, I see Lark and her boss talking in low voices to each other. He sees me and takes a step back from her as well as a deep breath as if my presence is an intrusion.

“Evening, Mr. Westcott.”

“Evening,” I reply, my gaze maneuvering from him to Lark. “Evening,” I add for her.

“Good evening.”

As I pass by, I notice the rack has been emptied and stands outside the door. I duck out, not sure how long I intend to stay. I’ll greet a few guests, make the rounds to please my parents, and then hopefully make a clean escape without being noticed.

My older brother is the picture-perfect son standing beside my mom greeting guests, the first in line to helm Westcott Law Firm after my dad retires. A clap on the back and a squeeze of my shoulder signals my dad’s presence before he says a word. “Your mom and I appreciate you being here.” And when he does speak, his tone is lacking the judgment he has every right to feel, forgiving of the disappointments I’ve brought on the family.

“It’s the least I can do.” I shove my hands into my pockets and shift my weight to my heels. “Hopefully, this event will raise a lot of money for the university scholarship program.”

“I’m sure it will.” My dad may be the quieter of my parents, but he’s not usually at a loss for words. We stand, both looking around for something to talk about.

I finally say, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

“Eh, you have your life to live.” His eyes find me again, and he grins. “As parents, we’re supposed to raise you to be independent.” He takes a sip of his drink and savors it. “I’d say we’ve done a good job.”

Guilt still comes in waves, reaching the shores of my conscience the more time I spend with him. I take a step away, but he notices, and says, “No one blames you, Harbor.”

“I blame myself.”

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